


Long Distance

by petersnotkingyet



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Friendship, Hate Crime, Homophobia, M/M, Mild Injury, Slurs, Someone throws a beer bottle at Bitty's head, everything is okay tho, nongraphic description of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petersnotkingyet/pseuds/petersnotkingyet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack can't sleep when he doesn't know where his team is.  Turns out, he might have spidey sense.  Or rather, Bitty sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Distance

Jack was not a mother hen.

He didn’t coddle his team. He wasn’t overprotective. He just needed to know where his team was at night. It was a purely hockey-related fact. As captain, he felt obligated to make sure his team was at the top of their game. They wouldn’t be at the top of their game if one of their players was dead in a ditch.

Bitty wasn’t in the Haus, and Jack couldn’t sleep.

After an hour of lying in bed listening for Bittle come up the stairs and go into his room, the captain gave up on trying to fall asleep and got out of bed. He stood outside of Bitty’s room for a moment, listening for any sign of someone inside. The captain knocked on the door lightly and eased it open when there was no response. The room was dark and empty. Going downstairs, Jack saw Shitty sitting on the couch with a textbook in his lap and a documentary on the TV. “Thought it was past your bedtime,” Shitty prompted as Jack tried to look casual.

Jack shrugged and said, “Did Bittle say anything to you about going somewhere tonight?”

“He’s not upstairs?” Shitty questioned.

Jack shook his head. “I’d call him, but that’d be weird if he’s just… out,” he said. “I don’t know, man. He usually tells someone where he’s going to be.”

“Yeah,” Shitty agreed. “Ransom and Holster are probably still up. I’ll go see if they know.”

While Shitty went up to the attic, Jack sat down on the couch and tried to pay attention to the documentary. As far as he could tell, it was about the exploitive nature of documentaries, which seemed a little ironic. After a few minutes, Shitty came back downstairs with Ransom and Holster behind him. Judging by their bedhead and boxers, they’d already been in bed, but at least Jack hadn’t been the one to wake them up.

“Itty Bitty’s MIA, Cap?” Holster said, as quietly as he was capable of speaking, and Jack nodded.

“He went to the grocery store around eight,” Ransom said. “He said we were out of breakfast food, and he didn’t want to get up early enough to get it tomorrow. I don’t think I’ve seen him since then.”

“Should we launch a search party?” Shitty asked, only half joking. Jack was considering it when a car pulled into the driveway. Shitty walked over to peer out the window and said, “I don’t know who’s driving, but they’re dropping Bitty off.”

Jack bristled, getting off the couch, and prepared himself to deliver the chirping of a lifetime. Fricking Bittle had made him look like an overprotective soccer mom. Ransom and Holster settled in on the couch to watch the show, and Shitty went back to his documentary as footsteps sounded up the steps.

Ransom, Holster, and Shitty were all back on their feet as soon as Bitty walked in, and Jack sagged against the arm of the couch. There was blood caked in the kid’s hair, down his face, and onto his tee shirt. His scrawny knees were skinned, and he was clinging to a box of Frosted Flakes like it was the only thing holding him together.

“Bitty,” Shitty exhaled. “Jesus Christ, are you okay, kid?”

“I--” Bittle started, pausing to set the cereal down on the couch. His eyes were a little red and puffy, but his cheeks were already dry. “I think so.”

“Come sit down,” Ransom said softly, like Bittle was a scared animal they’d trapped in the corner.

Bitty shook his head. “The couch doesn’t need any more beer on it,” he said shakily. “I want to take a shower.”

“What happened?” Shitty asked quietly.

“I was leaving the grocery store, and some drunk guys started yelling at me,” Bitty said, fisting his hands in the hem of his tee shirt. “I just ignored them and kept walking, but they were following me. Then one of them yelled, “Fuck you, faggot,” and something hit me.” The sophomore held his hands up to show the scrapped skin on his palms, and Jack felt his stomach climbing. “The eggs broke when I fell, but I got the cereal.”

“Jesus Christ,” Holster said, as quietly as he was capable of. “Someone threw a beer bottle at you?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “There was a couple walking by, so the guy sat with me while the girl went and got campus security. Campus security called the cops, and I had to talk to them. I’m not hurt bad or anything, so they brought me home afterwards.”

“Why didn’t you call someone?” Jack said, finally finding his voice. “One of us could have come and sat with you. You didn’t have to… be alone for that.”

“I didn’t want to bother anyone,” Bitty said, and Jack was hugging him before could think about what he was doing. The sophomore seemed startled at first, but after a second he leaned into the touch. Jack was acutely aware of how small Bitty was, and he was suddenly struck by how much worse it could have been.

“You never bother me,” Jack stated. “You can call me whenever, okay? Even long distance. It doesn’t matter.”

Holster’s arms joined Jack’s in wrapping around Bittle’s baby bird shoulders. “Anyone gives you shit, man, you just point him out,” Holster said. “I’ll kick his ass. I’ll kick anybody’s ass.”

Bitty giggled a little. “Thanks, guys, but I think it’s handled,” he said. “Cops and all that.”

“Yeah, but we can be your personal cops,” Holster said, pulling out of the hug and reminding Jack that he should too. Now that the situation had lightened a little, Holster’s voice was projecting as usual. “BPD. Bitty Police Department.”

“BPD stands for borderline personality disorder,” Shitty pointed out. Holster waved him off. “That might be a little confusing for anyone who doesn’t get it.”

“We’ll come up with a better name in the morning,” Ransom said. “We could have tee shirts and everything.”

“If you say so,” Bittle laughed. “I’m going to go take a shower and get to bed. Y’all sleep good. Sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jack said. Bitty sighed.

“Fine. I’m not sorry I woke you up.”

“Good.”

Bitty disappeared up the stairs, and the three older students stood still and watched him go in silence until Shitty glanced at Jack and laughed. “What?” the captain asked.

“’Even long distance,’” Shitty quoted. “God, I love you, Zimmermann.”

“Shut up,” Jack huffed, but Shitty only laughed more.


End file.
